JAMES    C.    WELSH 


SONGS  OF 
A  MINER 


BY 

JAMES    C.  WELSH 


C!3 


G.   P.   PUTNAM'S    SONS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

XTbc     Ikntchctbocftcr     prcse 

1918 


Ube  Itnfclierbocftet  I)cc00,  Hew  Korfc 


DEDICATION  TO  MY  WIFE 

I  HAVE  sung  my  songs  as  the  throstle  sings, 
They  came  as  the  roses  come, 
In  mines  where  deepest  darkness  clings, 
Or  safe  in  the  ease  of  home. 

I've  strung  them  out  in  threads  of  pain, 
Or  in  webs  of  joy  and  mirth, 
Because  I  have  felt  the  sun  and  rain. 
And  the  great  glad  urge  of  earth. 

And  so,  having  known  the  gold  and  grey, 
And  tasted  the  false  and  true, 
I  send  this  volume  in  love  away 
And  dedicate  it  to  you. 


402214 


M 


INTRODUCTION 

R.  GEORGE  BERNARD  SHAW,  when 
asked  by  a  friend  of  mine  to  write  an 
introduction  to  this  volume,  said:  "Mr. 
Welsh  will  be  quite  able  to  stand  on  his 
own  legs:  and  he  had  better  start  on  them  from 
the  beginning  and  write  his  own  introduction- 
say  a  bit  of  autobiography."  Whether  Mr.  Shaw 
is  right  or  wrong  I  adopt  his  suggestion,  though 
there  is  little  to  record  that  seems  to  me  inter- 
esting. 

I  was  born  on  June  2,  1880,  in  the  mining  village 
of  Haywood  in  the  Upper  Ward  of  Lanarkshire, 
and  went  through  all  the  vicissitudes  of  the  life  of 
the  miner's  child. 

I  was  the  fourth  of  a  fairly  large  family,  and  we 
were  hardily  though  honestly  brought  up.  We 
knew  hunger  often  in  the  eariy  days— with  poverty 

5 


6  Intk'oduction 

I  have  always  had  a  more  or  less  nodding  acquaint- 
ance; it  has  always  been  to  me  a  marvel  how  my 
mother  managed  her  part  of  the  business. 

By  the  time  I  went  to  school  at  the  age  of  five 
our  home  struggle  was  keenest,  and  perhaps  only 
God  and  my  mother  know  what  that  struggle 
meant  for  her.  I  have  tried  to  get  her  to  talk 
about  it  many  times  since,  but  she  does  not  care 
even  to  dwell  upon  it  in  thought.  Still,  a  retentive 
memory  and  fairly  average  powers  of  observation 
tell  me  many  things  at  which  in  certain  moods  I 
grow  angry,  and  I  never  cease  to  feel  that  there 
is  an  insane  ordering  of  temporal  things,  which 
condemns  the  women  of  the  class  to  which  I  belong 
to  unreasonable  and  unnecessary  suffering.  Faults 
our  women-folk  certainly  have;  but  what  magni- 
ficent virtues  they  possess.  And  we  must  also 
remember  that  these  working-class  women  of  a 
generation  ago  have  given  us  the  present-day 
miners— a  set  of  men  than  whom  (I  speak  here  of 
my  own  particular  district)  there  is  no  finer  in  the 
industrial  world  today.      Women  who  can  give  the 


Introduction  7 

world   sons    like    these    have    virtues    worth    im- 
mortalising. 

I  left  school  when  I  was  somewhere  between  the 
age  of  eleven  and  twelve  years,  the  custom  at  that 
time  being  that  if  you  passed  the  Fifth  Standard 
you  were  considered  to  be  efficient  enough  to  start 
work.  Being  still  a  few  months  too  young  to  be 
allowed  by  the  law  to  work  in  the  pit,  I  was  given 
a  job  on  the  pit-head,  and  was  sacked  the  first  day. 

The  job  I  was  given  was  to  sit  at  a  little  engine, 
which  worked  the  conveyors  that  carried  the 
slack  coal,  or  dross  from  one  pit  to  another,  where 
it  was  washed,  and  sometimes,  when  the  washer 
was  chocked  out,  they  whistled  to  the  washer  who 
stopped  the  engine.  When  the  obstruction  was 
got  over  the  whistle  was  again  blown  and  the  engine 
started.  A  man  stood  beside  me  for  the  first  hour 
that  day  to  initiate  me  into  the  turning  off  and  on 
of  the  steam,  and  when  he  saw  that  I  understood 
what  was  required  he  left  me. 

Matters  went  on  all  right  till  midday,  when  I 
wandered  out  and  began  to  explore  a  hedge  that 


8  Introduction 

ran  behind  the  pit,  and  being  too  much  attracted 
with  birds'  nests  which  were  being  built,  I  forgot 
about  my  engine,  and  returned  fully  an  hour  after- 
wards to  find  a  man  on  my  job,  and  that  I  was 
already  in  the  ranks  of  the  unemployed. 

However,  I  soon  found  another  job,  working 
beside  the  women  who  picked  the  stones  from 
among  the  coal  before  it  went  into  the  waggons; 
and  from  that  day  I  have  been  wholly  opposed  to 
women  being  employed  at  or  near  a  coal  mine. 

As  soon  as  I  was  twelve  I  got  a  job  in  the  pit, 
and  I  have  worked  in  coal  mines  all  my  life  until 
two  years  ago,  when  there  was  a  checkweighman 
wanted  at  the  pit  in  which  I  was  employed,  and 
I  got  the  job.  I  check  the  coal  as  it  comes  up  the 
pit,  and  see  that  every  man  gets  credited  with 
the  due  amount  of  coal  in  each  tub.  I  act  on 
behalf  of  the  men  and  they  allow  a  percentage 
of  their  earnings  to  go  into  a  fund  to  pay  me  for 
my  work. 

The  twenty-four  years  spent  in  the  pit  were 
irksome   to    a   person   of   my   temperament;   but 


Introduction  9 

they  were  not  unprofitable  and  by  no  means 
destitute  of  joy,  for  I  was  forced  more  and  more 
into  taking  an  interest  in  Trade  Union  affairs 
and  trying  to  understand  matters  affecting  my 
trade,  and  in  doing  so  I  got  to  know  my  fellow- 
men,  and  that  has  been  the  most  instructive  and 
enjoyable  part  of  my  whole  life. 

This,  then,  is  my  life,  briefly  outlined,  and 
perhaps,  remembering  this,  the  reader  may  under- 
stand the  better,  certain  moods  which  I  have  tried 
to  express  in  verse. 

I  have  always  been  a  keen  reader  and  was  writ- 
ing verses  in  my  early  teens.  I  have  written  so  far 
always  because  I  had  to;  for  when  I  wanted  to 
express  a  certain  mood  I  knew  no  peace  until  it 
was  on  paper.  If  I  pleased  myself  I  was  happy,  if 
I  did  not  succeed  no  one  else  had  to  bear  the 
affliction. 

Some  five  or  six  years  ago  I  met  Mr.  J.  Harrison 
Maxwell,  a  Glasgow  teacher,  and  I  should  like  to 
place  on  record  my  indebtedness  to  him  for  the 
generous  help  and  encouragement  he  has  given  me. 


lo  Introduction 

He  and  his  wife  have  been  my  finest  friends,  and 
it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that,  but  for  their  efforts 
and  sympathy,  this  volume  would  never  have  been 
published. 

Dreams  I  had  in  early  life  of  writing;  but  they 
were  only  dreams  and  no  more,  which  died  or 
slept  because  of  discouragement.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Maxwell  came  into  my  life  and  have  given  the 
dreams  a  re-birth.  So  much  indeed  have  they 
infected  me  by  their  enthusiasm,  and  so  unself- 
ishly have  they  laboured  on  my  behalf,  that  I 
have  consented  to  try  my  luck  with  this  little 
volume  of  verse.  If  it  succeeds  a  large  share  of 
the  credit  must  go  to  them,  for  no  man  ever  had 
finer  helpers,  guides,  critics — comrades — than  they 
have  been  to  me. 

These,  then,  are  my  verses.  I  risk  nothing 
except  perhaps  a  dream  if  they  fail.  I  have  always 
had  to  work  hard  for  my  living,  and  am  proud  of 
the  fact  that  I  have  retained  so  far  my  own  soul 
in  the  process.  My  songs  are  the  expression  of  the 
moods  I  happened  to  be  in  when  I  wrote  them.     I 


Introduction  ii 

do  not  ask  the  world  to  judge  them  because  a  miner 
penned  them — there  is  no  credit  in  that — in  fact, 
I  rather  disHke  the  fact  that  there  is  a  tendency 
already  in  some  quarters  to  dub  me  a  "miner  poet." 
Miner  I  am,  poet  I  may  be;  but  let  the  world  not 
think  there  is  virtue  in  the  combination.  "  Plough- 
men poets, "  "navvy  poets, "  "miner  poets"  appeal 
only  to  the  superficialities  of  life.  The  poet  aims 
at  its  elementals.  These  I  have  tried  to  touch, 
and  let  the  world  say  whether  I  have  succeeded 
or  no;  I  want  to  "stand  on  my  own  legs." 

James  C.  Welsh. 


CONTENTS 


Dedication  "  to  My  Wife  " 

PAGE 

3 

Introduction 

5 

Dedication  to  "The  Crusade  of  Youth  ' 

'       17 

The  Crusade  of  Youth     . 

19 

I  Would  I  Were 

47 

To  A  Blackbird 

49 

A  Death  Hymn 

51 

A  Sang  o'  Hame 

53 

The  Land  of  Heart's  Desire    . 

56 

If  I  Were  King  of  Nid-Nod  Land 

59 

Labour     

61 

The  Miner       .... 

64 

Discouraged    .... 

67 

To  My  Wife      .... 

.       69 

When  *'  Casey  "  Plays 

71 

13 


14  Contents 

The  Spirit's  Call     .... 

A  Tribute  to  Robert  Smillie    . 

To  A  Dead  Comrade  (J.  S.  T.)   . 

ToK M .... 

A  Picture  in  Grey    .... 

The  Exiled  Heart    .... 

Blind  Musings  .... 

Come  to  Yon  Mossy  Den. 

Ode  to  the  Memory  of  Robert  Burns 

A  Paraphrase 

I  Would  be  the  Red  Rose 

The  Lonely  Tomb     .... 

Let  Movin'  Mirth    .... 

To  J H M . 

ToH C .... 

Sonnet  on  Hearing  an   Opera   for    the 
First  Time  .... 

To  A M .... 


74 
76 

78 
8o 
8i 

82 

84 
86 
88 

94 

98 

100 

lOI 

102 
103 

104 
106 


SONGS  OF  A  MINER 


15 


DEDICATION  TO  "THE  CRUSADE  OF 
YOUTH" 

TO  MRS.  MAXWELL 

Soft  as  the  footfall  of  the  dawn, 

Unseen  as  scent  of  violet. 

Along  dim  lanes  of  life  you've  drawn 

My  hopes  which  with  past  tears  are  wet. 

Take  then  my  dream,  it  sprang  in  pain, 

'Tis  of  my  inner  life  a  part, 

Pure  as  sweet  rose-buds  after  rain, 

And  you — you  reared  it  in  my  heart. 


17 


THE  CRUSADE  OF  YOUTH 

Dawn,  silver-sandalled  from  the  couch  of  Night, 
Leapt  like  the  Spring  from  Winter's  iced  embrace, 
As  through  the  world's  wide  labyrinth  of  Hght 
I  burst  to  birth,  love  beaming  on  my  face, 
A  song  upon  my  lips,  my  heart  a-fire, 
My  blood  a-dance  for  life!  for  Hfe!  for  life! 
I  swung  athwart  the  vale,  the  sweet  brown  earth, 
Broken  and  scarred,  and  cut  all  ripe  for  seed, 
Smiled   and   caressed  my  feet,   which   strove  for 

strife ; 
For  youth  was  in  my  veins — my  soul  had  need 
Of  battle  fierce.     The  river  ran  with  mirth 
And  kissed  the  sedges  bending  o'er  its  brim. 
The  scented  pines  rained  song  in  drenching  showers, 
And  set  the  moments  dancing  with  the  flowers. 
I  lived!  I  lived!  and  from  the  wood's  decay, 
The  very  voice  of  death  cried :  Life's  for  him. 
I  breasted  the  long  hill.    Away,  away! 

19 


20 


The  Crusade  of  Youth 


The  wind  sang  merrily— the  clouds  flashed  by, 
The  ploughman  whistled  to  his  leisured  team, 
The  sedgy  pools,  where  slumbering  in  a  dream 
Euterpe  sings,  I  hailed  with  lusty  cry. 
I  broke  the  gauzy  gossamer  which  hung 
From  flower  to  flower;  I  gathered  up  the  dew 
Which  like  a  silver  fire  my  hands  ran  through 
And    showered    in    pearls    was    on    the    grasses 

strung ; 
The  golden  flowers  strewed  dust  upon  my  feet 
And  I  was  mad  with  life.     Oh,  hfe  was  sweet! 
All  madly  up  the  hill  I  tore.     The  morn 
Flung  splendours  with  the  sower's  lavish  hand; 
Breathless  and  panting,  and  my  hair  unshorn 
Streamed   in    the   wind   in   many    a   flower-dyed 

strand 
I  stood  to  scent  the  breeze  like  steed  of  war, 
Then  broke  again  away  too  young  to  rest. 
Far  o'er  the  ridge  of  hills  I  ran,  and  far 
Along  the  wide  horizon's  riven  crest 
To  battle  with  the  sins  that  stained  the  world, 
And  kept  my  banner  held  aloft,  unfurled. 


The  Crusade  of  Youth  21 

First  I  met  Self.    I  knew  him  when  he  came, 
Aping  the  things  he  would  but  could  not  be ; 
At  every  pool  he  stood  to  view  his  frame, 
Watching  if  other  eyes  were  turned  to  see 
His  beauty  rare.    He  held  within  his  hands 
Showers  of  gain  to  crown  me  in  flaming  gold, 
Drawn  from  the  lives  of  peoples  of  all  lands ; 
Pearls   from   child   eyes,    health   from   their   rosy 

cheeks ; 
Years  from  young  hearts,  wealth  from  the  souls 

of  the  old. 
Virtue  from  women.     All  the  broken  bands 
Despoiled  to  feed  Self's  vanity,  I  saw; 
The  crooked  limbs,  bent  backs,  and  sores  red-raw; 
The  stunted  souls,  and  battered  lives;  and  so 
Raising  the  arm  of  Truth  I  bade  him  go, 
Then  onward  strode,   resolved  that   Love  should 

win 
The  world  to  beauty,  free  from  aching  sin. 

Then    Passion    caught    and    held   me — kissed   my 
mouth, 


22  The  Crusade  of  Youth 

Poured  fire  into  my  veins  from  her  hot  Hps. 

Her  touch  enthralled.    I  fell,  and  as  day  slips 

With  April  suddenness  from  smiles  to  tears, 

I  was  enclosed  in  weary  age's  years, 

And  all  the  splendid  miseries  of  youth.  .  .  . 

A  cloud  came  o'er  the  sun  and  all  was  gloom, 

Like  brooding  night  before  a  stormy  day, 

I  heard  the  giant  ticking  clocks  of  doom. 

And  marked  drab  Misery's  hours  slow  boom  away; 

I  plumbed  the  deeps  of  hell  with  torture  rent ; 

And  roamed  in  Melancholy's  morbid  path ; 

Slow  frenzy  burned  within  me,  and  the  wrath 

Of  penitence  consumed  me  to  content. 

Wiser  I  girded  me  to  front  the  hill, 

And   spurned    wild    Passion   with   her   lures    and 

wiles 
Away,  away!  the  battle's  for  the  strong, 
So  sang  the  wind — the  sea  sang  loud  and  long 
Of  strength  and  conquest,  and  the  unbending  will 
That   wins    the   world    with    plaudits    and    with 

smiles. 
Then  darker  grew  the  sky,  and  Passion's  storms 


The  Crusade  of  Youth  23 

Tore  round  me,  o'er  me,  through  me  as  I  stood 

With  naked  strength.     The  storm  rushed  through 
my  blood 

While  Passion  wiled  and  smiled  and  lured  through 
tears. 

Which  sheeted  from  the  skies,  and  filled  the  meres 

Of   mind,    and   drowned   white   Thought   in   wild 
alarms; 

Convictions    shook    like    pines    and    groaned    and 
crazed — 

Wailed  dirges  from  the  branches  of  my  thought. 

With    Nilean    sweep    Truth's    pyramid    was    sub- 
merged. 

And  Virtue  never  victory  dearer  bought. 

With    lightning  stroke  the  storm   course  was   di- 
verged 

To  island  me  in  ocean's  calm  amazed, 

But  strengthened  for  the  fight.   .   .   . 

Temptation  came 

In  robes  of  red  all  flowing  to  the  ground, 

Her  hair  in  tumbling  folds  from  day-white  brow 

Fell  like  the  silent  avalanche  of  night, 


24  The  Crusade  of  Youth 

With    breasts    full-curved    like    sea-waves    tipped 

with  flame; 
Her  sensuous  Hps  where  ravishment  was  found 
Were  crimson  glories,  fascinating  sight 
Her  cheeks  were  blushing  roses  wreathed  in  snow. 
She  poured  her  power  through  eyes  that  seemed 

divine, 
Till  kneeling  there  I  claimed  her  prize  of  mine    .   .  . 
Then  ashes  seemed  the  fruits  that  I  had  won, 
The  fragrant  rose  was  scentless  in  the  air, 
TJie  pearls  into  a  worthless  paste  had  run. 
And  ruby  joys  had  shuddered  to  despair. 
I  spumed  the  disappointment  from  my  sight. 
And  turned  my  laggard  steps  towards  the  height. 
The  clouds  fell  from  the  sun  and  broke  away 
In  radiant  smiles ;  the  runnels  sang  a  rune 
Of  Summer,  which  came  dancing  down  the  day, 
With  roses  blowing  in  the  breast  of  June, 
And  poppies  nodding  in  her  flowing  hair, 
And  harebells  tinkling  from  her  tiny  feet. 
And  fragrant  thyme  strown  from  her  fingers  there, 
And  diamonds  dancing  from  her  footsteps  fleet. 


The  Crusade  of  Youth  25 

I  sang  again,  and  built  a  world  of  dreams 
With  mystery  and  wonder  of  the  skies, 
And  all  the  beauty  that  within  them  lies, 
To  crown  her  queen  of  all  the  poets'  themes. 
I  sang  of  deep,  dim  chambers,  longing  sighs, 
Of  soft  round  arms,  warm  kisses  of  deHght, 
I  sang  of  all  the  splendours  of  the  night 
That  lurk  in  whispers,  and  in  love-Ht  eyes, 
Of  fragrant  groves,  of  nightingales,  of  song, 
Of  balmy  airs,  of  blue  lagoons,  where  gleams 
The  rose-dyed  silver-sanded  sea  of  dreams, 
Which  to  the  truths  and  hopes  of  life  belong. 
1  sang  of  laughing  seas,  and  snowy  foam. 
Of  golden  stars,  of  dim  blue  skies  of  love; 
I  sang  of  womanhood  and  love-dowered  home, 
And  happy  children,  (fawns  within  the  grove 
Of  Hfe)  where  men  in  mutual  loving  strove 
To  build  a  better  world  .   .   . 

With  sudden  jar 
Down  thundering  on  me  in  his  fiery  car. 
There  came  the  grim  dark  visaged  god  of  War. 
The  world  in  blood  and  tears  lay  in  his  wake, 


26  The  Crusade  of  Youth 

And  Murder  roared  in  epics  to  the  skies; 

A  hell-broth  from  the  cauldrons  of  his  hate 

Poured  o'er  the  land  in  wild  and  whirling  spate, 

Wherein  great  dreams  had  died;  and  all  a-quake 

Lay  bleeding  Culture,  death  within  her  eyes. 

Love,  like  a  wounded  bird  with  drooping  wings. 

Lay  weeping  o'er  the  broken  lives  of  men. 

A  festival  of  horror  filled  each  glen 

And  rolling  plains  were  bounded  b}^  the  rings 

Of  rapine  and  destruction,  which  he  flung 

Around  them;  and  the  hills  shook  at  his  roar. 

Through  fire-split  skies  his  awful  anger  tore 

To  stamp  men's  bones  "immeasurable  dung." 

Down  roared  the  deluge  of  the  nations'  blood, 

Down  rushed  the  storms  of  hatred  which  he  bred. 

Art  fell,  and  Science,  prostituted,  led 

Where'er  he  turned  the  hell-red  raging  flood. 

One  justified,  the  other  gave  him  power; 

Art  painted  him  as  god  beneficent 

And  flung  a  glamour  o'er  his  hateful  deeds; 

Science  surrendered  him  her  greatest  dower 

To  give  him  lives  whereon  his  body  feeds. 


The  Crusade  of  Youth  27 

The  flood  swept  on,  a  waste  world  in  its  track 
With  ne'er  a  power  to  turn  the  horror  back. 

Then  gHding  down  the  far  confines  of  time 
Came  ghosts  of  long-past  far-off  primal  years, 
All  witnesses  in  broken  hearts  and  tears 
And  heart- wrung  groans  that  rang  in  dirge  and 

rhyme 
To   War's   foul   scourge.      Here   weeping   orphans 

sobbed, 
There  mothers  groaned  and  mourned  the  loss  of  sons, 
And  widows'  wailings  drowned  the  roar  of  guns; 
The  clash  of  arms  was  silenced  by  the  cries 
Of  suffering  from  the  victims*  agonies. 
Greed    seized    such    chance,    and    Innocence    was 

robbed, 
The  orphans'  tears  were  pearls  for  his  foul  store. 
The  widows'  need  his  hour  to  plunder  more, 
The  very  sorrows  of  the  world  he  sold 
To  stain  with  Hves  of  men  his  blood-red  gold. 
Here  lay  a  rustic  Newton's  scattered  brain ; 
There  a  Copernicus  all  torn  in  twain ; 


28  The  Crusade  of  Youth 

Here    some    young    voiceless    Shakespeare,    whose 

sweet  song 
Had  ne'er  moved  worlds;  and  gliding  among  the 

throng 
An  angel-throated  Irving;  there  with  eyes, 
That  dreamed  Utopias  beyond  the  skies, 
A   sweet-faced    Christ   who   might   have   saved   a 

world ; 
There,  marching  bravely  with  his  banner  furled 
A  young  Columbus,  who  had  never  sailed 
His  dream  Atlantic;  Motherhood  here  wailed 
An  unknown  Galileo,  torn  by  Mars 
Who  ne'er  had  built  world-truths  from  moving  stars ; 
Then  came  a  young  Canova,  eyes  aglow. 
Whose  dreams  in  marble  men  will  never  know ; 
An  Angelo  whose  brush  was  never  swayed ; 
A    Bach    whose    fugues    of    sweetness    ne'er    were 

played; 
A  Beethoven  whose  symphonies  ne'er  moved; 
A  Burns  whom  frail  humanity  ne'er  loved; 
A  Socrates  whose  wisdom  ne'er  was  known; 
A  Shelley's  passion  which  had  never  grown. — 


The  Crusade  of  Youth  29 

On,  ever  onward,  moved  the  mighty  throng 
In  voiceless  eloquence  to  damn  the  wrong. 
And  so  I  braced  myself  to  fight  and  slay 
This  horror  that  upon  the  world  made  prey. 

I  girded  me  with  hope  from  long  dead  eyes, 
I  caught  white  faith  from  far-off  early  years, 
I  gathered  all  the  trust  from  martyred  hearts, 
And  all  the  love  that  once  had  conquered  fears; 
The  glowing  beauty  of  the  Autumn  skies, 
With  sun  long  set  faint  selvedging  the  night. 
Where  day  with  evening  lingering  fondly  parts 
The  sudden,  golden  glories  of  the  Spring 
(The    laughing,     dainty,     tripping,     fresh,     green 

sprite) 
And     Winter's     blustering     strength     and     rocky 

might — 
I  caught  them  all,  and  wove  them  into  song 
And  set  my  rune  to  'witching  tune  of  love. 

Drowned  by  the  crash  of  guns,  and  swish  of  blade, 
My  song  was  like  a  whisper  in  a  glade. 


30  The  Crusade  of  Youth 

Then  Motherhood  rose  from  the  blood-drenched 

earth 
And  with  the  voice  of  angel,  glance  of  dove, 
Gave  me  her  power,  and  love  then  found  rebirth. 
Long,  long  I  sang,  ere  yet  the  world  gave  ear. 
Long,  long  1  fought  and  swung  to  meet  the  foe, 
My  only  weapon — love — met  blow  for  blow 
With  stronger  love,   which   hate   could   not   o'er- 

throw. 
I  caught  the  rapture  of  the  glowing  rose, 
The  light  touch  of  the  sunbeam  on  the  lake, 
The  shimmer  of  the  spray  from  mountain  linn, 
The  whisper  of  the  wanton  wind  which  blows 
O'er  purple  moors,  love's  symphonies  to  wake. 
Till  every  form  of  life  to  me  was  kin. 

Still  moved  the  carnival  across  the  world. 

And  human  life  in  hell's  abyss  was  hurled. 

In  broad  Atlantic  tides  red  blood  was  spilt 

To  dye  grim  Mars  in  deepest  crimson  guilt; 

Still  roared  the  guns  of  death,  and  storms  of  hate, 

And  Murder's  boiling  river  rushed  in  spate; 


The  Crusade  of  Youth  31 

Still  was  the  pride  of  life  in  Youth  deflowered 
By  the  relentless  God  so  soon  devoured. 
And  Motherhood  unlettered  in  device 
Risked  more  to  feed  the  bloody  sacrifice ; 
The  more  he  flung  her  offerings  to  the  grave, 
The  more  her  body  fashioned  that  she  gave; 
Engulfed  in  sorrow,  suffering  and  pain, 
She  wept  to  give  what  'neath  her  heart  had  lain, 
What  she  had  nourished  with  her  living  blood, 
To  see  her  man-child  perish  in  the  flood. 

Enmeshed  within  a  tangle  of  strange  dreams 
She  sat  and  brooded  o'er  a  world  run  mad, 
Then  vehemently  raised  herself,  and  gleams 
Of  quavering  wrath,  and  passion  from  her  soul 
Poured  o'er  the  world,   and  Love  grew  still  and 

sad 
To  hear  the  stern  resolve  her  sorrow  made: — 
"Better  a  thousand  times  that  life  should  roll 
In  silence  on  the  shoreless  sea  of  time 
Than  that  the  very  clod  should  thus  upbraid 
The  horror  of  man's  sublimated  crime ; 


32 


The  Crusade  of  Youth 


Better  that  no  soft  arms  should  clasp  my  neck, 

Better  that  no  sweet  lips  should  kiss  my  cheek, 

Better  a  deadened  world,  than  that  this  wreck 

Should  prosper  in  its  universal  sweep. 

No  gleeful  laugh  shall  ring  from  childish  hearts, 

No  merry  romping  o'er  the  daisied  fields. 

If  this  is  all  the  harvest  that  it  yields, 

If  this  the  end  of  all  my  pains  and  smarts. 

That  worlds  should  swing  in  silence  round  their  suns 

Were  better  than  the  roar  and  crash  of  guns; 

A  voiceless  earth  were  better  than  this  crime 

To  sway  in  ether  fields  unsung  in  rhyme; 

A  speedy  euthanasia  holds  more 

Of  paradise  than  tomes  of  blood-bought  lore, 

Which  cannot  stay  this  pestilence  or  bring 

The  pride  of  sense  that  would  make  man  a  king; 

Better  that  no  humanity  were  born, 

Better  the  world  of  pulsing  life  were  shorn. 

That  Gods  and  men  were  disembodied  found 

Than  that  grim  Murder  should  by  men  be  crowned 

To  sit  in  honour,  and  o'er  worlds  to  rule. 

And  dye  the  thread  Fate  spins  upon  the  spool 


The  Crusade  of  Youth  33 

That  feeds  the  fabric  of  Time's  tragic  loom — 
I'll  plunge  the  world  for  aye  in  silent  doom!  " 

The  threat  fell  hard,  as  falls  the  measured  beat 
Of  doom  upon  the  outcast,  who  has  hung 
Between  the  flows  of  eloquence,  which  sought 
To  prove  that  he  some  hellish  crime  had  wrought, 
Or  innocent — that  circumstance  had  clung 
To  place  him  there  at  Retribution's  feet; 
And  then  to  hear  the  rasping  keys  of  death 
Grate  in  the  lock  of  his  cold  cell  beneath. 

Then  high  above  the  earth  a  flood  of  love 

In  rippling  smiles  fell  from  the  gates  of  space. 

Where,  fluttering  Hke  a  cloud-hung  speck  of  song, 

The  rover  of  the  pathless  blue  above 

Poured  melody,  as  if  to  heal  the  wrong 

Which  lay  upon  the  earth's  impassioned  face. 

The  measured  sobbing  sea  with  heaving  breast 

Lay  stilled  to  hear  that  harmony  of  rest; 

And  passionless  the  storm  fell,  as  if  spent 

In  one  grand  burst,  to  sink  into  content. 
3 


34  The  Crusade  of  Youth 

The  flowers,  which  dyed  their  eager  Ups  in  Hfe 
And  drank  the  ruby  wine  with  ardent  thirst, 
Raised  crimson  petals  to  the  strange  quiet  air 
As  if  the  world's  debauch  they  might  have  cursed- 
The  voices  of  the  earth  from  everywhere 
Cried  curses  on  the  authors  of  the  strife. 
The  brooding  sky  awoke  in  wide  surprise, 
And  trailed  its  tattered  robes  from  off  the  sun. 
The  earth  groaned  rugged  protest  to  the  skies. 
And  shook  her  hills  till  all  her  wrath  had  gone; 
Then  like  a  wilful  child,  whose  storm  of  tears 
Had  spent  itself  in  wild  and  bitter  wrath 
To  sink  in  fitful  sobs,  the  world,  storm-swept 
No  longer  in  its  vex^d  anger  wept, 
Lay  chastened  as  if  stilled  by  sudden  fears, 
And  haloed  in  an  anxious  aftermath 
Of  penitence. 

As  when  the  infant  world 
Into  Time's  deep  abyss  at  birth  was  hurled 
And  floating  lay  in  wide  and  starry  deep, 
Rocked  in  far  space  in  an  undreaming  sleep. 


The  Crusade  of  Youth  35 

So  now  it  lay;  and  Gods  with  empty  gaze 

Stood  wondering  and  bewitched  in  quiet  amaze. 

I  heard  Creation  breathing  deep  and  strong, 

I  heard  the  swish  of  far-flung  worlds  along 

The  boundless  ether  fields  unsearchable, 

The  birth  pangs  of  new  worlds  invisible, 

The  shuddering  sigh  of  others  sink  in  death. 

The  thrill  of  love,  above,  around,  beneath. 

The  dream  which  had  conceived  them  filled  my  soul, 

The   thought    which    gave   them   birth   upon   me 

stole, 
And  throbbing  as  the  silence  of  a  grove, 
I  heard  Time's  music  swing  the  spheres  to  love. 
Its  elemental  beatings  filled  all  space 
And  drugged  my  heart.    Its  glamours  in  a  race 
Passed    onward    till    they    soothed    the    tortured 

earth — 
Creation  was  a  hymn,  and  at  its  birth 
I  was  a  note  in  Life's  grand  symphony! 

So  men  mistimed,  had  played  their  great  discords, 
Had  toyed  with  thought  half-shapen  into  words, 


36  The  Crusade  of  Youth 

Had   thought   that   strife   and   clamour   were   the 

tune — 
Had  lost  the  orb  in  shadows  of  the  moon, 
Forgot  to  be  themselves — that  they  were  free 
And  knew  not  what  they  lost  in  harmony. 

Then  gathered  I  the  fragments  of  the  age 

(Which  strewed  like  broken  toy  the  floor  of  Time, 

Which  Gods  and  men  amused,  as  simple  chime 

That  won  the  ear  of  Childhood  for  a  while, 

Till  tired  of  its  monotony  and  guile 

*Twas  smashed  in  a  wild  burst  of  wanton  rage) 

Resumed  the  song  of  love  with  warmer  zest, 

Pitched  deep  my  voice  among  the  verities 

In  elemental  harmony  with  seas 

And  woods  and  rocks — by  sun  of  love  caressed — 

Wide    plains,    broad    rivers — hills,    whose    spiry 

peaks 
Braved   seas   of   clouds,    to   smile   their   hymn   of 

praise 
To  wide  creation,  which  in  infant  days 
Its  real  affinity  in  distance  seeks, 


The  Crusade  of  Youth  37 

I  sang:  the  listening  universe  lay  still, 
The  music  of  dim  worlds  in  naves  of  fire 
Came  down  eternity's  long  lanes:  the  will 
To  love,  and  with  God's  visions  to  conspire 
Took  hold  of  all  my  soul. 

Dowered  with  the  hope, 
Which  surged  along  immutable  expanse, 
To  re-awake  eternal  things  and  glance 
In  their  dulled  eyes  to  give  them  of  its  Hght, 
I  sang  of  Truth,  of  Justice,  Love  and  Right 
With  growing  power.     There  firm  upon  the  slope 
Of  Hfe  I  stood,  and  Motherhood  ashamed 
Bent  her  fair  head  within  its  tresses  framed 
And  wept  her  tragic  grief  in  tears  away. 

Long,  long  she  thus  wept  silently,  till  day 

Passed  into  dusk,  as  soft  as  gentle  sleep 

O'er  tired  infant  limbs  will  calmly  creep 

Till  every  httle  twitching  nerve  is  still. 

And  only  night  was  breathing  on  the  hill. 

The  quiet  stars  peeped  forth  like  watchful  eyes. 

To  guard  the  exhausted  sleeper  of  the  night, 


38  The  Crusade  of  Youth 

And  flash  new  dreams  with  each  pale  ray  of  Hght 

From  every  corner  of  the  winking  skies, 

So  that  she  dreamed  the  world  redeemed  and  won. 

Love  thoughts,  like  angel-stream,  along  each  ray 

In  silver  fire  ran  from  the  farthest  stm, 

And  humming  stars  took  up  the  roundelay 

To  swell  the  witching  sweetness  of  the  song. 

Then  Philomel  upon  a  blasted  tree 

Poured  streams  of  liquid  sorrow  far  along 

The  thickened  night,  until  the  hills  and  sea 

Cried  loud  with  pain,  in  wishing  for  the  morn. 

Born  of  such  sadness,  the  refulgent  dawn 
Leapt  from  the  inky  terrors  of  the  night 
To  foot  in  shuddering  haste  a-down  the  sky 
With  step  as  lightsome  as  a  frightened  fawn. 
The  sun  with  ghastly  beauty  made  her  hie 
To  tip  the  hills  with  iridescent  light. 
And  wreathes  the  clouds  in  gossamers  of  white, 
Until  they  seem  as  skyey  waves  of  foam 
Slashed  with  the  blood  which  soaked  the  thirsty 
loam. 


The  Crusade  of  Youth  39 

Fair  came  she  bounding  dressed  in  red  and  gold 
To  polish  every  pearl  in  Nature's  store 
The  sweet  flowers  held ;  and  flung  from  every  fold 
Of  her  wide  skirt  the  beauties  which  she  bore. 

The  thrush,  the  first  to  greet  her  from  his  bower, 

Flung  forth  a  rush  of  eloquence  and  praise 

Which  fluted  through  the  glen.    Ere  he  could  raise 

A  second  thrill  of  sound,  with  magic  power 

The  lark  in  brilliance  cleaved  the  morning  air. 

And  swept  the  wide  horizon  with  his  song. 

The  wren,  the  linnet,  chaffinch — everywhere 

There  leapt  a  trilling  paradise  along 

The  day's  confines.    Where'er  her  footsteps  trod 

A  tuft  of  fragrant  glory  smiled  to  God, 

And  marched  a-down  the  day  in  nodding  pride. 

She  burnished  every  pool  until  it  shone 

A  silver  glacier  on  the  far  hillside, 

And   stirred   the   bloomy   sprays   'mong   branches 

green 
To  fling  their  fragrance  far  as  day  had  gone; 
The  insects  sang  in  soothing  monotone 


40 


The  Crusade  of  Youth 


A  hymn  of  holiness  to  praise  the  scene. 
She  prised  with  smiles  the  eyes  of  Motherhood, 
Who  slept  and  journeyed  far  among  strange  dreams, 
Then  danced  she  onward  over  hill  and  wood 
And  left  the  sun  to  fill  the  earth  with  day. 

Stirred  by  a  breeze  of  love  which  swept  the  hill 
Rose  Motherhood  from  bed  of  moorland  grey, 
The  sun  upon  her  face  flung  rosy  beams, 
The  lure  of  space  within  her  eyes,  whose  still 
Blue  deeps  flung  dreams  across  the  early  day. 
The  glamour  of  the  dawm  within  her  hair, 
The  glow  of  hope  which  filled  her  soul  to  sway 
And  fashion  all  the  world  to  love  was  fair. 
Her  eyes,  where  still  were  clustered  dreams  and 

songs 
Predestined  to  dispel  the  world's  old  wrongs. 
Flashed  love  and  rapture  o'er  the  sun-laved  land. 
Her  ample  brows  held  visions  fair  and  bright, 
Born    of    the    sleep    which    filled    her    soul    that 

night. 
Her  sad  sweet  face  suffused  with  love  yet  held 


The  Crusade  of  Youth  41 

The  universe,  its  sorrows  and  its  pains — 
Showed  how  renunciation's  power  had  quelled 
Hate's  hurricanes  and  made  as  naught  its  gains — 
She  had  won  the  world  by  losing  it  for  love. 
Then  stirred  the  wind,  the  earth,  the  sky,  above 
The  sea — smiles   broke   and  rippled  through   the 

day. 
The  surge  of  sex  was  moving  everywhere 
To  break  in  passion's  magic  madrigals 
Upon  the  listening  ear.    From  hidden  beds 
The  sudden  flowers  uplifted  luring  heads 
An  invitation  in  each  tender  smile. 
All  dusty  with  desire.     The  birds  with  guile 
Made  copse  and  grove  inviting  with  their  calls; 
A  swift  desire  stirred  all  the  streams  with  glee 
To  make  them  seek  the  ardent  eager  sea ; 
The  grasses  whispered  mysteries  from  the  sod 
And  felt  the  impetus  divine  of  God ; 
The  sap  within  the  trees,  a-dream  with  leaves. 
Felt  life's  fast  lure — the  magic  springtime  weaves 
Was  flung  around  the  hills,  and  vales  between, 
Till  all  the  land  was  bathed  in  gold  and  green; 


42 


The  Crusade  of  Youth 


The  far-off,  grey-blue  hills  e'en  tried  to  be 
Lost  in  the  sky,  their  far  affinity, 
Till  life  upon  the  craving  longing  earth 
Leapt  with  desire  for  harmony  and  birth. 

And  Motherhood  felt  strong  the  magic  stir, 

Her  very  bones  ached  ardently  for  love, 

Her  full-curved  bosom  burned  with  the  desire 

For  unity,  and  glowed  with  godly  fire; 

A  yearning  in  the  heart  and  womb  of  her 

Swept  through  her  blood,   and  urged  her  dreams 

to  rove, 
Not  to  condemn  the  world,  but  to  redeem — 
That  life  not   death   should   build  with  love  her 

dream ! 

Strong  in  her  resolution  firm  she  stood 

To  share  the  dreams  of  God.    Her  soul  embued 

With  love,  while  angels  'neath  her  bosom  curled 

To  weave  the  dreams  that  would  redeem  the  world; 

Her  hair  all  shiny  with  the  dust  of  stars, 

Her  eyes  a-glow  with  light  beyond  the  bars 


The  Crusade  of  Youth  43 

Of  other  worlds;  she  lifted  up  her  voice 

And  sang  with  me,  and  made  the  world  rejoice. 

Then  burst  a  paean  melodious  that  thrilled, 
For  War's  coarse  voice  was  now  forever  stilled, 
The  hills  and  plains  took  up  the  song  in  glee, 
And  vibrant  passion  moved  the  musing  sea, 
And  all  the  world  joined  in  the  harmony:— 
"No  more  shall  murder  wallow  in  its  grime 
And  spew  its  vomit  on  the  shores  of  time; 
For  glamoured  with  the  dawn,  a  race  shall  rise 
Clothed  in  white  honesty  and  righteousness. 
And  gowned  in  majesty  of  thought.     The  skies 
Shall  smile  exulting,  and  the  sun  shall  bless 
The  travail  of  a  people's  soul-despair. 
I'll   mould    their   souls   with    freedom,    and   their 

hearts 
Shall  beat  fraternally;  love,  sweet  and  fair, 
Shall  shape  the  generation  ere  'tis  born; 
No  more  shall  passion  be  the  urge  of  life 
To  make  the  world  immoral  with  its  strife; 
Dawn,  with  the  love  of  ages  on  her  face 


44  The  Crusade  of  Youth 

Shall  yield  her  riches,  and  no  more  be  torn 

With  all  the  agonies  foul  War  imparts. 

I'll  fashion  minds  of  men  ere  they  have  birth, 

And  so  bring  love  and  fellowship  to  earth. 

I  bore  the  race;  ere  yet  the  world  began 

I  was  a  thought  in  the  Creator's  brain; 

When  swung  the  earth  a  ball  of  mist  and  rain 

I  waited  in  its  heart  till  Time  had  spun 

A  thousand  cycles  round  the  parent  sun, 

Then  I  came  forth  to  shape  and  fashion  man. 

I  watched  him  crawl  in  deep  and  slimy  pools 

Slow  moving  through  the  centuries  of  old, 

I  shaped  his  course  to  run  by  self-willed  rules. 

I  taught  him  splendour  when  his  brain  awake 

Took  thought;  I  urged  him  for  creation's  sake 

To  splash  the  world  with  beauty.     All  the  gold 

Which  sunsets  spun  I  gathered  for  his  store, 

And  taught  him  all  God's  beauty  to  adore. 

I  watched  him  fight  primeval  monsters, 

Raised  him  erect  to  gaze  upon  the  sky 

To  see  its  starry  wonder;  and  I  gave 

Him  dreamy  worlds  to  conquer  beyond  the  grave. 


The  Crusade  of  Youth  45 

Him  have  I  loved  and  tended — given  him  rule 

O'er  all  the  earth.     I've  shaped  his  progress  till 

Believing  I  had  given  him  the  will 

To  reach  high  godhead,  now  the  noonday  full 

Of  evolution  sees  him  in  his  pride 

Of  greed  and  selfishness  seek  suicide. 

But  no;  I'll  save  him  from  himself  and  breed 

A  nobler  race  from  every  blemish  freed, 

A  race  more  great  than  any  earth  has  trod: 

Man's  brotherhood,  the  fatherhood  of  God!" 

The  glory  of  the  morning  in  her  face. 

The  dew  of  love  within  her  shining  eyes, 

And  all  the  subtle  mystery  of  night 

Spun  into  soul  to  weave  her  witching  grace, 

Roused  adoration  from  all  life,  and  cries 

Of  worship  filled  the  world  with  love's  delight. 

The  forest  kings  stirred,  glad  to  be  awake. 
And  flowers  rose  up  in  beauty  o'er  the  scene 
To  bathe  themselves  in  rainbows  for  her  sake 
And  spill  their  fragrant  mystery  at  her  feet; 


46  The  Crusade  of  Youth 

While    grasses    smoothed    themselves    more    soft 

and  green 
To  bring  cool  comfort  to  her,  fresh  and  sweet, 
Clear-eyed,    red-lipped,   full-chested,    smooth    and 

round, 
Strong-limbed    and    bronzed,     a    vision    in    love 

gowned : 
Wide-hipped,  with  love's  attraction  in  her  face, 
Fit  mother  dowered  to  bear  a  worthy  race. 

And  so  we  sang,  and  from  the  tortured  earth, 
Foul  war,   which   could  not  live  where  love  was 

found, 
Was  vanquished  by  desire  for  love  and  mirth. 


I  WOULD   I  WERE 

I  WOULD  I  were  the  apple  bloom 
In  tufted  foam  upon  yon  tree, 
I'd  spill  my  colour  on  your  cheek 
And  never  ask  reward  or  fee, 
Content  if  you  more  beautiful 
But  had  a  smile  or  thought  for  me. 
I  would  I  were  the  apple  bloom 
In  foamy  tassels  on  yon  tree. 

I  would  I  were  the  scented  rose 
I'd  load  my  fragrance  in  your  breath, 
By  giving  all  my  soul  I'd  gain 
A  perfect  life  in  perfect  death ; 
The  night  sits  crowned  within  your  hair, 
The  summer  in  your  eyes  beneath — 
I  would  I  were  the  scented  rose, 
I'd  load  my  perfume  in  your  breath. 
47 


48  I  Would  I  Were 

I  would  I  were  a  perfect  peace 

I'd  steep  your  soul  in  angel  light, 

I'd  give  the  ocean's  mighty  calm 

With  summer's  silver  moony  night, 

So  would  I  banish  your  despair 

With  grace  won  from  the  swallow's  flight- 

I  would  I  were  a  perfect  peace, 

I'd  bathe  your  soul  in  angel  light. 


TO  A  BLACKBIRD 

Blythe  fount  of  song,  within  thy  breast 

A  lyric  spring  of  love  is  guest, 

You  tune  my  heart  to  beat  with  Spring 

And  throb  with  that  sweet  song  you  sing- 

A  song  of  sadness  and  of  mirth 

That  woos  the  snowdrops  to  their  birth. 

You  wake  the  dreams  that  probe  the  star, 

Fling  vistaed  hopes  where  dreamers  are, 

Stir  the  divinity  in  men, 

And  wake  to  effort  strength  again ; 

Fling  wide  creation's  glamour  keen 

O'er  all  that  must  be — is— has  been. 

You  sing  the  hopes  of  coming  day 

That  beckon  life  along  God's  way, 

Until  my  heart  leaps  up  to  sing 

In  rapture  with  you,  bird  of  Spring; 
4  49 


50  To  a  Blackbird 

Not  seasons  only  do  you  see 
But  Time's  eternities  with  me. 

I  sense  the  vision  that  you  see, 

I  feel  the  dreams  my  soul  would  be, 

As,  fronting  to  the  evening  star, 

You  pour  your  dreams  across  the  bar 

Of  space-hung  worlds — and  prove  how  well 

A  strong,  brave  soul  might  sing  in  Hell. 

And  deep  into  the  heart  of  me 

Thy  song  of  sobbing  ecstasy 

Sinks  with  a  sadness  long  since  born 

As  if  that  bare  and  jagged  thorn 

'Gainst  which  thy  throbbing  throat  is  pressed 

Were  buried  deep  within  thy  breast. 


A  DEATH  HYMN 

Bury  me  deep  where  the  roses  grow, 
Where  the  free,  fresh  winds  of  heaven  blow, 
Or  where  the  violets'  blooms  of  blue 
Dye  earth  with  heaven's  enraptured  hue, 
Where  the  primrose  spills  his  fairy  gold, 
Where  the  wind-blown  poppy,  flaunting  bold, 
Swings  in  the  breeze  of  the  royal  day 
In  tune  to  the  lark's  wild  'passioned  lay. 

Bury  me  deep  in  the  lone,  wide  moor, 

I  have  loved  its  life,  I  have  known  its  lure. 

Where  the  curlew  calls  and  the  plovers  sigh 

To  the  wandering  winds  as  they  go  by, 

Where  the  lapwing  circling  shouts  his  note 

To  the  brooding  hills  where  heroes  fought, 

While  freedom  soars  in  the  glowing  west — 

Bury  me  there  and  let  me  rest. 

51 


52  A  Death  Hymn 

Bury  me  deep  in  some  thought-filled  glen 
In  sound  of  the  griefs  and  303^3  of  men, 
Or  near  to  some  happy,  laughing  burn 
Where  the  laden  bees  at  night  return. 
Where  evening  rings  from  a  thousand  throats 
In  vesper  songs  of  joyous  notes — 
There  is  the  place  for  a  man  to  rest 
Who  has  loved  his  kind  with  a  godly  zest. 


A  SANG  O'  HAME 

I  CAN  hear  the  wild  whaup  mournin'  wi'  his  eerie 

hauntin'  sigh, 
An'  the  circlin'  swoopin'  lapwing  raspin'  oot  his 

twa-fauld  cry, 
An*  the  wee  bit  birds  a'  cheerie  singin'  sets  my 

he'rt  aflame, 
But  I  maunna  let  them  draw  me— for  I'm  no' 

gaun  hame  ! 

CHORUS 

Oh,   it's  hame,   hame,   hame,   that  keeps  ringin' 

through  my  brain, 
I  can  see  the  bonnie  hills  an'  the  greenin'  glens 

again, 
An'  the  joukin',  jumbly  bum,  that  gangs  grum- 

blin'  doon  the  brae 
Reminds  me  o'  the  bonnie  hame  that's  faur,  faur, 

away! 

53 


54  A  Sang  o*  Hame 

Ilka  daisy  peepin'   shyly  frae  its  bed  o'   grassy 

sod, 
Ilka    common    dandelion    gilding    a'    the    dusty 

road, 
The   heath-emblossomed   muirland,    blushin'    like 

the  cheek  o'  shame, 
Flood  the  mem'ry  fou'  o'  joys — but  I'm  no'  gaun 

hame! 

There  are  thochts  too  high  for  words,  there  are 

dreams  too  fair  tae  see, 
There  are  joys  when  lookin'  forrit  that  can  ne'er 

meet  conmion  e'e; 
There's  a  croon  mair  worth  the  wunnin'  than  the 

laur'lled  ring  o'  fame 
An'    we'll    yet    attain    oor   heaven — when    we    a' 

gang  hame  ! 

For  it's  hame,   hame,   hame,   that   gangs  ringin' 

through  my  brain 
An'   we'll   see   the   bonnie  hills   an'    the   greenin' 

glens  again, 


A  Sang  o*  Hame  55 

An'  the  bickerin'  burn  that  serpents  like  a  thocht 

o'  love  aflame 
Will   chuckle  in   its   gledness   when   we   a'    gang 

Hame  ! 


THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE 

I  AM  out  for  the  Land  of  Heart's  Desire 
With  glad  eyes  Ht  in  a  holy  quest, 
"With  young  blood  stung  by  a  raptured  fire, 
And  a  soul  grown  big  with  a  dream,  the  best — 
A  dream  where  a  heart's  desire  may  rest. 

Would  you  go  to  the  Land  of  Heart's  Desire  ? 
You  must  tread  far  out  on  a  rock-strewn  way , 
And   your   hopes   shall   sink    and   your   footsteps 

tire 
In  your  westward  walk — and  your  pathway  grey 
Shall  grow  no  blooms  to  make  glad  the  day. 

But  you'll  know  as  you  travel  to  Heart's  Desire 

That  the  thorns  which  are  stinging  your  aching 

feet 

5© 


The  Land  of  Heart's  Desire  57 

You  are  trampling  down  in  the  treacherous  mire, 
And  clearing  the  path  to  make  progress  sweet 
For  those  in  the  rear  who  will  follow  fleet. 


Have  you  courage  to  travel  to  Heart's  Desire  ? 
The  way  is  long  and  the  risks  are  great, 
And  your  soul  must  battle  with  dangers  dire — 
Contempt,  derision,  and  hellish  hate. 
Like  fiends  in  your  path  shall  lie  in  wait. 

But  the  dream  you've  had  of  Heart's  Desire 
Shall  burst  in  song  from  your  joyous  breast 
And  mount  on  wings  than  the  eagle  higher, 
Till  men  shall  turn  to  the  glowing  west 
And  the  world  shall  rise  and  proclaim  you  blest. 

Hard,  hard  is  the  battle  for  Heart's  Desire, 
The  days  are  so  short  and  the  nights  fall  deep, 
But   our   souls   grow   strong   and   our  hopes   soar 

higher, 
And  we  have  no  time  to  mourn  or  weep — 
God  grant  we  may  win  ere  we  sink  to  sleep. 


58  The  Land  of  Heart's  Desire 

And  live  or  die — your  Heart's  Desire 

Shall  come  in  the  last  long  sobbing  breath, 

For    you've   fought    the   fight    and    you've   borne 

the  fire, 
And  the  end  you  reach  is  never  Death — 
It  is  Life  !     It  is  Life  !  for  you've  kept  the  faith. 


IF  I   WERE   KING   OF   NID-NOD   LAND 

Were  I  the  King  of  Nid-Nod  Land, 

Where  beautiful  sunlight  gleams, 

I  would  take  all  children  by  the  hand 

And  show  them  the  bower  of  dreams; 

I'd  build  them  boats  from  golden  hours, 

From  minutes  weave  them  sails, 

And    straight    from    behind    I    would    make    the 

wind 
Of  laughter  blow  in  gales. 

Were  I  the  King  of  Nid-Nod  Land, 

Each  night  when  the  dark  came  down, 

I  would  take  all  children  by  the  hand 

And  clothe  each  in  fairy  gown; 

I  would  fill  their  ears  with  music  sweet 

From  the  rustle  of  angels'  wings, 
59 


6o      If  I  were  King  of  Nid-Nod  Land 

I  would  show  them  smiles  that  leap  o'er  stiles 
Like  lambs  and  such  joyous  things. 

Were  I  the  King  of  Nid-Nod  Land, 

Such  wondrous  things  I'd  do, 

"When  I  led  the  children  by  the  hand, 

To  where  the  joy-flowers  grew; 

And  I  would  see  they'd  never  cry, 

And  never  a  sorrow  bring 

From  Nid-Nod  Land — I'd  wave  Love's  wand 

If  I  were  only  King. 

Were  I  the  King  of  Nid-Nod  Land, 

I  know  what  I  would  do, 

I'd  take  all  big  folks  by  the  hand 

And  make  them  happy  too ; 

For  then  all  people,  big  and  wee, 

Would  songs  of  gladness  sing, 

Their  smiles  would  grace  the  whole  world's  face 

If  I  were  only  King. 


LABOUR 

Born  to  the  thong  and  the  rod, 
With  only  the  dreams  of  sublime, 
Where  life  like  a  storm-shod  god 
Ramps  down  the  halls  of  time; 
Bright  gleam  the  stars  in  the  sky, 
Sweet  is  the  wind  on  the  moor, 
Grovel  1  must  and  pass  by 
To  die  'mid  the  slime  and  the  hoar. 

I  know  not  the  sweets  of  the  rose, 
Bend,  grind  and  labour  I  must- 
Wind  'mong  the  pines  never  blows 
For  me — only  wild  storms  of  lust 
Surge  through  my  big,  hulking  frame, 
(Love  for  me  never  was  meant) 
Braised  by  their  force  and  their  flame, 

Tamed  only  when  they  are  spent. 
6i 


62  Labour 

Robbed  of  the  laurels  of  life, 
Robbed  of  the  power  to  enjoy, 
Robbed  of  the  world,  save  its  strife, 
Robbed  of  desire  to  employ 
Ideals  and  efforts  and  dreams, 
Tastes  that  are  almost  divine, 
Giving  the  poet  his  themes. 
Ah! — what  a  heritage  mine — 

Conceived  in  the  mire  and  the  murk, 
Born  in  the  slut  and  the  slime, 
Rocked  in  the  tempest  of  work, 
Fed  on  the  garbage  and  grime, 
Lashed  through  the  dungeons  of  life 
Like  sins  through  the  horrors  of  hell. 
Stabbed  by  the  storm  like  a  knife — 
Curse  on  the  things  that  I  tell ! 

Brute-lust  and  self  rule  my  lot. 
Ideals  for  me  can't  exist. 
Fancy  with  me  cannot  float 
Where  gods  by  the  angels  are  kissed ; 


Labour  63 


Braised  in  a  hell  upon  earth, 
Scorched  in  a  hell  when  I  die, 
I  should  have  sought  better  birth 
When  calling  to  life  passing  by. 


THE  MINER 

Down  in  the  deep,  sunless  murk, 
Guiltless  of  laughter  and  mirth, 
Playing  an  epic  of  work, 
Here  in  the  guts  of  the  earth; 
That  which  was  forests  of  trees — 
Flowers  of  the  ages  long  gone, 
Come  we  to  hive — human  bees — 
Honey  of  gold  for  the  drone. 

You  who  in  comfort  and  ease 

Sit  by  your  fireside  and  mourn. 

Torn  by  imagined  disease 

Know  ye  'tis  Hfe  that  ye  burn, 

Life  in  the  lives  of  strong  men 

Crude  with  the  task  of  their  toil, 

Work  that's  a  prayer  full  of  pain 

Prayed  to  the  gods  of  the  soil. 
64 


The  Miner  65 

Prayers  that  are  curses  and  groans, 

Agonies  moulded  in  tears, 

Pictures  in  jettest  of  tones 

Paint  we  to  portray  our  years; 

Hope  of  the  ages  we  know 

Only  in  times  of  our  dreams  .  .  . 

Masters,  why  should  it  be  so  ? 

Why  should  life  prosper  your  schemes  ? 

We've  fashioned  your  fabric  of  dreams, 
Built  by  the  gold  of  our  blood. 
Passions  we  spill  as  Life  streams 
And  roars  to  its  rim  in  full  flood ; 
We  laugh  at  the  threats  of  your  god, 
We'll  yet  mock  the  things  that  you  tell. 
Death  cannot  equal  Life's  load, 
We'll  live  a  Utopia  in  Hell. 

You've  built  from  our  lives  your  success. 
Ye  swear  now  'tis  war  to  the  knife. 
Your  progress  is  shaped  to  oppress, 
Ye  spare  neither  children  nor  wife; 


66  The  Miner 

The  gold  ye  have  set  for  your  crown 
We'll  melt  in  the  streams  of  your  blood, 
By  the  god  that  ye  worship  and  own 
We'll  whelm  all  your  schemes  in  its  flood. 

Down  in  the  deep,  sunless  murk, 
Guiltless  of  laughter  and  mirth, 
Playing  an  epic  of  work, 
Here  in  the  guts  of  the  earth ; 
Hell  has  no  terrors  for  men 
Bom  to  forbear  with  such  load, 
Scorn  we  its  promise  of  pain 
And  laugh  in  the  face  of  your  god. 


DISCOURAGED 

Let  me  sleep  to  the  sigh  of  a  summer  breeze 
When  the  day  is  a-drowse  with  a  lazy  heat, 
When  the  birds  sit  silent  in  the  trees, 
And  only  leisure  is  complete; 
There  let  me  dream  though  the  world  may  rage 
Till  the  passionate  sun  weds  the  crimson  west, 
I  have  toiled  and  tried— I  have  won  my  wage, 
I  am  tired  of  the  fight  and  I  want  to  rest. 

Let  me  sleep  'neath  the  gloom  of  a  cloud-capped 

crest, 

With  the  rolling  moor  spread  at  my  feet, 

A-dream  on  my  mother's  brooding  breast, 

And  list  to  her  heaving  heart's  firm  beat; 

I  have  loved  her  hills,  I  have  loved  her  streams, 

I  have  loved  her  children — loved  her  best, 
67 


68  Discouraged 

And  there  till  the  eventide  of  dreams 
I  would  lay  me  down;  for  I  want  to  rest. 

1  have  tasted  life,  1  have  known  its  lust, 

I  have  drunk  from  its  deep  mysterious  springs, 

1  have  raised  its  beauty  from  the  dust, 

And  crushed  its  impulse  in  ruined  things; 

And  because  of  these — in  the  twilight  dreams. 

When  the  sinking  sun  weds  the  weary  west 

I  would  haste  me  back  to  my  childhood's  themes- 

I  am  sick  of  the  fight,  and  I  fain  would  rest. 


TO  MY  WIFE 

When  sere  has  touched  the  leaf  with  age, 

And  Time  brings  Leisure's  glow, 

Turn  softly  o'er  this  scribbled  page 

And  learn  the  things  I  know. 

If  in  the  waning  summer  night 

A  fragrance  lightly  blows, 

When  winds  remember  roses  bright, 

Think  to  yourself  ...     He  knows. 

When  sleeps  the  regal  sire  of  day 

In  western  glory  red, 

And  lazy,  crawling  mists  betray 

The  winding  river's  bed. 

When  moor  birds  call,  and  night  birds  cry, 

And  night  scents  fill  the  air 

From  winds  that  know  where  thyme-beds  lie, 

Think  to  yourself  .  .  .     He's  there. 
69 


70  To  My  Wife 

When  day  with  evening  fondly  parts 

Along  the  gorsy  hills, 

And  tawny  dusk  a  veil  imparts 

O'er  little  bogland  rills, 

Turn  to  the  thoughts  of  yesterday 

Among  the  cool  green  groves, 

And  think  that  always  and  for  aye 

As  well  as  now  .   .  .     He  loves. 

Yet  there  will  come  a  time  when  I, 
Dear  heart,  shall  leave  your  side 
As  stars  fade  quietly  from  the  sky 
"When  dawn  wins  day  for  bride; 
Scent  of  the  fragrant  birk  and  briar 
May  fail  their  round  to  steer, 
Think  to  yourself — though  worlds  in  fire 
May  perish  .  .  .     He  is  here. 


WHEN  "CASEY"  PLAYS 

I  SPAN  the  world  with  seeing  eye, 

I  sweep  with  universal  gaze 
A  toiling,  pained  humanity 

When  Casey  plays 

The  purl  of  mountain  brook,  the  gleam 
Of  streams  that  sea-ward  seek  their  ways, 

All  pass  before  me  in  a  dream 
When  Casey  plays. 

The  swaying  poppy  in  the  corn — 

Sonatas  of  long  summer  days 
I  hear,  ere  care  and  pain  were  born. 

When  Casey  plays. 

I  hear  the  croon  of  woodland  dove, 

The  lark's  wild  song  of  'passioned  praise; 
71 


72  When  • 'Casey* '  Plays 

The  world  awakes  to  joy  and  love 
When  Casey  plays. 

I  seem  to  roam  the  boundless  sea, 

Or  dream  by  little  sunlit  bays — 
A  thousand  joys  encircle  me 

When  Casey  plays. 

On  sleepy  hills  I  lie  and  dream, 

And  catch  the  scent  of  thyme-strown  braes, 
I  see  the  sun  on  moorlands  beam 

When  Casey  plays. 

I  catch  the  glint  of  fairy  rings 

Through  Fancy's  necromantic  haze, 

I  feel  the  sweep  of  wild  birds'  wings 
When  Casey  plays. 

And  over  all  like  angel  span 

That  rings  the  world  in  magic  rays, 

I  see  the  brotherhood  of  man 
When  Casey  plays. 


When  • 'Casey* •  Plays  73 

By  scented  meads  I  pass  along, 

Where  lazy,  lowing  cattle  graze, 
I  hear  them  breathing  deep  and  strong 

When  Casey  plays. 

Lord  of  the  wide  concerto's  sweep, 

A  magic  in  your  fiddle  says : — 
"We  triumph  over  death's  last  sleep, 

When  Casey  plays." 

Though  life  seems  oft  in  tangles  curled, 

And  reason  leaves  it  in  a  maze, 
Love's  symphonies  en  ring  the  world 

When  Casey  plays. 


THE  SPIRIT'S  CALL 

My  blood  ran  lightning  through  my  heart, 
A  sweet  fire  swept  through  all  my  frame, 
As  through  the  summer  wood  I  passed 
And  heard  a  spirit  call  my  name. 
My  cheek  was  rosed  like  guilty  Shame — 
"That  which  ye  seek  is  there,"  she  cried, 
"Look  inward.  "     Then  in  crystal  flame 
All  the  world's  plaudits  sank  and  died. 

My  stiffening  tongue  clove  thick  as  night 

As  straight  into  m}^  eyes  she  smiled, 

The  holy  fire  of  sweetest  worth 

Held  me  like  touch  of  infant  mild; 

I  pulled  a  rose-bud  growing  wild, 

"Catch  me, "  she  cried,  as  in  a  ring 

She  danced  'round  trees  like  laughing  child, 

"Then  Time  shall  listen  while  you  sing. " 

74 


The  Spirit's  Call  75 

Still  I'm  pursuing  where  she  leads, 
"Where  sings  the  forest's  feathered  choir, 
By  sedgy  pools  and  reedy  rills 
'Mong  tufted  thorn  and  budding  briar; 
Though  Time  can  never  make  me  tire, 
I  know  I  may  not  hold  her  hand, 
But  oh !  how  sweet  the  lunng  fire 
That  burns  my  being  like  a  brand. 


A    TRIBUTE    TO    ROBERT    SMILLIE 

When  hurricanes  blew  o'er  the  seas  of  hate, 

And  broke  in  thunder  on  Life's  rugged  shore, 

When  dark  Oppression's  rage  in  angry  floods 

Swept  o'er  the  land  and  Hunger  gaunt-eyed  stood 

And  mocked  my  class,  the  gods  then  gave  you 

birth. 

Nursed  in  the  lap  of  poverty  and  rocked 

In  want,  a  world's  desire  took  shape  to  give 

The  stamp  of  leader  to  your  infant  mind. 

You  came  to  save  a  people  bound  and  slaved. 

To  place  a  crown  of  freedom  on  its  brow ; 

You  taught,  exhorted,  guided — nay,  e'en  pled 

With  all  the  fear  and  ignorance  they  knew 

To  find  your  work  misunderstood  and  wronged. 

But  blame  them  not;  be  patient  with  them  yet, 

Like  those  of  old,  they  know  not  what  they  do; 

76 


A  Tribute  to  Robert  Smillie  77 

^et  do  they  crucify  their  Christs  and  choose 
Barabbas  at  the  gate.     But  some  have  glimpsed 
The  eastern  streaks  that  bring  triumphant  day. 
Press  onward  still,  the  future  holds  your  dreams, 
Though  dark  the  night,  the  dawn  shall  come  in 

time. 
When  loud  hosannas  from  the  morning  hills 
Shall  herald  in  the  day  of  brighter  worth, 
And  Hope  shall  crown  your  triumph  with  men's 

love. 


TO  A  DEAD  COMRADE  (J.  S.  T.) 

Sleep,  comrade,  sleep,  the  darkness  fills  the  night, 
Black    owls    of    fate    beat    homeward    with    slow 

sweep ; 
Worlds,  racked  in  pain,  turn  heavy  in  their  flight — 
Sleep,  comrade,  sleep. 

Rest,  comrade,  rest,  now  is  the  time  for  ease. 
Dark-omened  clouds  roll  upward  to  the  West ; 
Storms  rage  and  roar,  like  gods  in  fell  disease — 
Rest,  comrade,  rest. 

Sleep,  comrade,  sleep,  you,  who  unsparing  toiled, 
Face  in  your  dreams  the  East  where  dawn  must 

creep 
Straight   to   your   brave  dead  heart   with   sorrow 

soiled — 

Sleep,  comrade,  sleep. 
78 


To  a  Dead  Comrade  (J.  S.  T.) 


79 


Twine  we  the  rose — its  broken    life    may  grieve 

you, 
Cull  we  sad  flowers  to  lay  on  your  still  breast ; 
There,  till  the  world  awakes  to  love,  we  leave  you — 
Rest,  comrade,  rest. 


TO  K M 

When  I  behold  thy  glorious  loveliness, 
And  mark  the  lustre  in  thy  glowing  eyes, 
Which  'neath  thy  brow  of  snowy  marble  lies, 
To  show  a  9oul  new  wrung  from  Virtue's  press, 
When  I  behold  the  cheek  for  whose  caress 
The  roses  seem  to  live  and  crave  their  dyes 
So  that  they  may  the  better  greet  the  skies 
Clothed  in  the  fickle  sunbeam's  fiery  dress; 

Oh,  then  I  think  of  hills  incarnadined 
With  flaming  sunsets,  crested  in  white  snow; 
And  when  I  see  the  glory  of  thy  brow 
Behind  which  lie  thy  dreams  of  sweet  delight, 
Crowned  with  a  mass  of  raven  hair  I  find 
My  fancy  thinking :— Day  has  wed  with  Night. 


80 


A  PICTURE  IN  GREY 

Waves  on  a  cold  grey  shore, 
Sea  birds  on  heavy  wing, 
Mists  all  the  headlands  o'er, 
Grey  thoughts  the  soft  winds  bring; 
Far  out,  the  white  birds  cry, 
Sigh  of  the  wave  and  wind, 
Ships  passing  out,  and  I 
Dreaming  alone  behind. 

Bleak,  bleak,  the  shore  and  lea, 
Soft  stirs  the  yellow  grass, 
Grey  sand  and  greyer  sea 
Change  as  the  shadows  pass; 
Still  out  of  all  the  pain, 
Out  of  the  misty  sea, 
Out  from  this  threat  of  rain — 
Shall  break  the  sun  to  me. 

Ayr,  September,  1916. 


&i 


THE    EXILED    HEART 

There's  a  hush  i'  the  bush,  and  the  e'enin'  saft 

settles, 
The  birds  seem  tae  drowse,  an'  this  calm  is  a  pain, 
The  scent  o'  a  rose  that  has  drappet  its  petals 
Ne'er  wins  me;  for  Scotia,  my  he'rt's  aye  thine 

ain! 

And  here  in  this  alien  land  o'  the  Maorie, 
Sae  sun-baked  and  dowie,  my  mind  aye  is  fain 
Tae  flee  tae  thy  hills,    an'   thy   green   glens   sae 

bowery, 
For  Scotia,  dear  Scotia,  my  he'rt's  aye  thine  ain! 

This  land,  tho'  the  smiles  o'   fair  Freedom  may 

lend  her 
A  charm  that  is  gowned  in  a  robe  o'  its  ain, 

S2 


The  Exiled  Heart  83 

Where  he'rts  may  be  human  an'  seemingly  tender, 
Woos  me  for  itsel',  but  it  woos  me  in  vain. 

The  Tui  invades  baith  my  ears  wi'  his  singin*, 
The   pealin'    bell-bird   shouts   his   note   thro'    my 

brain ; 
But  the  quick  ears  and  e'en  o'  fair  Fancy  are 

bringin* 
The  lark  and  his  sang  frae  faur  Scotia  my  ain! 

Guid  Fortune  may  come  as  come  bees  tae  the 

blossom, 
An'  Sentiment  croon  ilka  pleasure  an'  pain ; 
But  dearer  than  fortunes,  or  worlds  tae  this  bosom 
Is  Scotia,  my  Scotia,  that  ca's  me  its  ain! 

New  Zealand,  November,  1906. 


BLIND  MUSINGS 

The  air  breathes  sweet  wi'  sang 
An'  the  rowan's  i'  the  bud, 
While  in  wimpHn'  waves  alang 
Jouks  the  burnie  thro'  the  wood; 
Ilka  birk  is  busket  braw, 
An'  the  sighin'  saughs  look  doon, 
Dippin'  boughs  o'  tasselled  snaw 
In  the  burnie's  stream  o'  broon. 
Nature  wears  her  garb  for  me — 
That  sic  scenes  I  may  not  see 
'Swilled  by  Fate  wi'  stern  decree, 
An'  I  lift  an  empty  e'e 

As  the  breeze 
Floats  thyme-scented  o'er  the  lea 

Thro'  the  trees! 

But  altho'  my  een  remain 
.  84 


Blind  Musings  85 

Sight  unvisited  and  dark 

I  can  hear  frae  hill  and  plain 

Ilka  angel-throated  lark; 

And  the  throstle  floods  his  sang 

Ower  the  blossom-scented  glen, 

An'  the  whaups,  the  hills  amang, 

Shout  strange  fears  faur  owre  the  fen, 

Yet  Nature's  scent's  for  me 

Tho'  her  face  I  may  not  see. 

An'  she  breathes  her  sweets  so  free 

Till  I  feel  my  empty  e'e 

Fou  o'  tears, 
As  Mem'ry  decks  the  lea 
Wi'  the  bairns  I  used  to  see 
Rompin'  roon  the  auld  beech-tree 
In  young  years  1 


COME  TO  YON  MOSSY  DEN 

Come    where    the    bloom's    on    the    sweet    purple 

heather, 
Where  wild  cries  the  lapwing  an'  screamin'  muir- 

hen, 
Come  where  the  bluebells  are  noddin'  thegither, 
An'  saft  blaw  the  sweet  win's  through  yon  thorny 

den. 

There  will  I  pledge  thee  in  love  true  and  tender. 
An'  kiss  thy  sweet  lips  till  thy  sorrows  depart ; 
For  were  I  a  king,  thy  form  graceful  and  slender 
Would  sparkle  in  beauty,  the  gem  o'  my  heart. 

Sit  here  in  the  bield  where  the  win'  canna  herm  ye 

Let  me  read  a'  the  love  in  thy  bonnie  grey  een ; 

An'   I'll  quell  ilka  fear  that  may  rise  tae  alarm 

y^- 

Oh,    whisper    the    words,    love,    thy    lips    formed 

yestreen. 

86 


Come  to  Yon  Mossy  Den  87 

A  king  may  be  blessed  wi'  his  boundless  domin- 
ions, 

An'  fame  may  a  thrill  tae  anither  impart, 

But  blest  I  shall  aye  be,  if  Love  spreads  his  pin- 
ions 

To  soar  eagle- winged  o'er  the  realms  o'  my  heart. 


ODE  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  ROBERT  BURNS 

He  rose  outsinging  song — a  prince  of  thought 

To  roam  the  realm  of  dreams; 

Raised  in  a  cot  of  clay,  he  soared  and  sought 

A  crown  of  starry  beams 

For    Labour's    brow,    which    knew    not    what    he 

brought. 
He  sang  of  Freedom,  though  himself  a  slave 
To  all  the  ills  the  wind  of  Want  has  blown ; 
Denied  a  crust,  with  liberal  hand  he  gave 
His  country  glory,  which  he  ne'er  had  known. 
He     sang — the     care-worn     worker     paused     and 

heard 

The  angel-throated  notes  of  Freedom's  choice, 

And  looking  up,  found  diademed  the  word 

Of  Independence  clarioned  from  his  voice. 

He  hailed  the  day  of  brotherhood  and  love 

88 


Ode  to  the  Memory  of  Robert  Burns    89 

And  led  where  lesser  minstrels  halting  grope. 
He  raised  man's  mind  to  planes  of  peace  above, 
Where  peaks   of  Time  faint   pierce  the  dawn   of 

hope — 
Impassioned  love  from  instrument  uncouth, 
The  unconscious  messenger  of  God's  own  truth. 

Cradled  in  poverty,  this  king  of  song 

Rose  from  his  lowly  rest, 

Pouring  his  notes  the  world  of  men  among 

Like  wild  lark  from  its  nest — 

A  lover  of  fair  Freedom,  hating  Wrong. 

With    pen    he    taught    what    Bruce's    sword    had 
learned 

From  Scotia,  queen  of  all  the  ocean's  isles- 
He  taught  with  love,  yet  in  himself  was  scorned, 
Got  Fortune's  frowns,   when  he  had  earned  her 

smiles. 
Vain  wish !  had  Scotia  known  his  purpose  strong, 
Had  she  but  seen  the  sureness  of  his  aim ; 
Then  had  she  never  blushed  to  hear  his  song, 
For  that  which  is  "her  glory  is  her  shame." 


90    Ode  to  the  Memory  of  Robert  Burns 

He  sang  the  coming  of  a  world  of  love 

And  spurned  the  tyrant's  chain, 

And  strenuous  for  white  Honesty  he  strove, 

And  from  a  life  of  pain 

A  wreath  of  music  for  his  country  wove. 

He  sprang,  a  rose  in  Scotia's  wilderness, 

To  bloom  in  scented  harmony.     His  strains 

Voiced  rustic  lovers'  tales  of  deep  distress : 

He  trilled  their  simple  joys,  their  cares  and  pains. 

He  saw  and  told  how  in  the  crimson  strife 

Of  Greed  and  Self,  some  few  of  falcon  brood 

Hilled  with  red  gold  the  pain-sown  plains  of  life, 

And    dewed    her    meadows    with    their    brothers' 

blood. 
How  had  he  lived,  had  Scotia  known  his  worth, 
This  king  of  Songland's  sphere! 
How    had    he    died,    though    sprung    from    lowly 

birth. 
Had  Care  not  tuned  his  ear! 
Had  he  then  been  the  pride  of  all  the  earth? 
How  had  he  sung  had  Pain  not  made  him  feel ! 
How  had  he  loved  had  Fate  not  made  him  poor  I 


Ode  to  the  Memory  of  Robert  Burns    91 

Who  then  had  voiced  the  cause  of  Scotia's  weal, 

Or  spun  romance  round  hill  and  glen  and  moor? 

But  o'er  his  heart  the  veil  of  melancholy 

In  brooding  mazes  hung  to  make  him  sweet, 

And  fettering  hardship  tuned  his  words  more  holy, 

While  icy  Want  gave  to  his  heart's  song  heat. 

So    sang    this    hero-heart    which    naught    could 

daunt, 
A  man  sincere  who  graced  an  age  of  Cant. 
Crushed  was  the  kingly  heart, 
And  starved  the  mighty  brain; 
And  ne'er  the  equal  of  his  soul 
Shall  Scotia  know  again. 
His  silver  songs  still  ring 
Among  his  native  hills. 
Time  cannot  stale  the  princely  sound 
Of  melodies  he  trills. 
A  dirge  creeps  through  the  air 
Which  quietens  every  ban; 
But  he'd  not  then  been  Scotia's  Burns 
Had  he  been  less  a  man. 
So  raise  his  fame  with  joy 


92    Ode  to  the  Memory  of  Robert  Burns 

And  crown  his  noble  cause ; 

For  his  song  ne'er  had  moved,  if  he 

Had  not  been  what  he  was! 

How  shall  we  crown  this  giant  of  sweet  sounds, 

This  chieftain  singer  of  the  Scottish  heart? 

Take  all  the  love  that  in  his  song  abounds, 

And  ring  it  round — simpHcity  the  art 

He  used — so  throne  him  round  in  rustic  mounds 

Of  dignity,  and  set  him  there  apart, 

Steeped  for  all  time  in  sunshine  of  his  song 

Which  sweeps  the  ages  of  the  world  along. 

So  let  all  hail  with  joy  his  natal  day. 

He  ne'er  had  wished  it  gloomed  in  vain  regrets. 

Earth,  with  thy  thousand  voices  swell  the  lay 

To  praise  his  risen  sun  which  cannot  set ; 

Ye  hills,  and  moors,  and  rivers — raging  seas, 

Sing  ye  in  turn  for  song  which  he  has  given: 

Ye  birds,  and  flowers — your  notes  raise  with  the 

trees 
And  pay  your  homage  glad  to  smiling  Heaven. 
And    Scotia,    stay    that    blush   that    shames    thy 

cheek, 


Ode  to  the  Memory  of  Robert  Burns    93 

For  once  thou  failed  to  act  in  duty's  part ; 
Yet,  thy  neglect  was  good — 'twas  but  a  freak 
Which    gave    our    world-loved    Burns    a    manly 

heart ; 
It  raised  him  high  in  song  o'er  every  age, 
And  starred  him  far  above  the  enraptured  throng, 
Bequeathing  to  thy  sons  a  heritage, 
Which  spans  the  ringing  firmament  of  Song! 


A   PARAPHRASE 

(with     apologies     to     NEIL     MUNRO) 

O  DAE  ye  no'  weary  when  gloaming  is  fa'in' 
An'  red  sinks  the  sun  in  a  lowe  i'  the  sea? 

O  dae  ye  no'  pine  when  the  rough  wuns  are  blawin* 
For  kin'  he'rts  at  hame  and  for  hame  company? 

A'  richt  for  a  time  is  the  gold  o'  the  Maorie, 
An'  weel  is  the  walth  o'  the  far  western  laun, 

But  aften  ye'll  dream  o'  the  green  glens  sae  bowrie, 
An'  wus  for  the  grup  o'  a  strong  Scottish  haun. 

O  dae  ye  no'  picture  the  barefitted  callans, 

An'  blythe  lassies  a'  in  rumstoogrous  play, 

Wha  coorie  an'  hide  at  the  gables  o'  hallans 

In  sweet  scented  games  at  the  end  o'  the  day? 
94 


A  Paraphrase  95 

Ye    min'    fine,    we    breisted    the     rough    winter 
weather, 
An'  snaw-ba'd  ilk  ither  til  blae  wi'  the  cauld, 
An*  hoo  i'  the  Spring  we  bird-nested  thegether, 
An'  clamb  the  heigh  trees  wi'  a  he'rt  that  was 
bauld. 

When   simmer   was   green    hoo  we   ga'ed   tae  the 
dookin', 

Syne  guddled  for  troot  i'  the  broos  o'  the  burn; 
An'  wat  tae  the  skin,  dae  ye  min'  o'  the  joukin' 

Tae  bed  ere  oor  mither  oor  state  could  discern. 

's  hard  folk  we  breed  in  this  grey  misty  island. 
We  don't  show  oor  feelin's  tae  a'  body's  een; 
'Tis  warm  he'rts  ye  fin'  where  the  pulse-beat  is 
highland — 
Ah!  aften  we  think  o'  ye  silent  an'  keen. 

It's  speilin'  the  hills  in  the  wun'  an'  the  heather 
Mak's    strong    Scottish    folks    with    the    strong 
Scottish  he'rt 


96  A  Paraphrase 

Fine  grained  are  the  folk  bred  where  fine  is  the 
weather, 
But  saft  wun's  an'   blue  skies  are  nae  Scottish 
pairt. 

Nae  doot  but  ye'll  lang  for  the  roar  an'  the  rattle 
O'  strong  sturdy  storms  wi'  a  tang  i'  their  blaw; 

For   that   was   the   striving   that   fashioned   your 
mettle, 
An'  made  ye  a  Scotsman  that  disdained  tae  fa  . 

Yir  breist  bauds  the  sang  and  the  gloom  o'  the 
mountains. 
The  thunder  o'  linns  an'  storms  burst  thro'  yir 
bluid ; 
The  grey  northern  mists  Hcht  yir  een,   an'   life's 
fountains 
Spring  fresh  frae  yir  he'rt  where  the  martyrs 
yince  stuid. 

Up  stey  hills  o'  longin'  nae  doot  ye  hae  sprauchled, 
An'  doon  the  deep  valleys  o'  gloomy  regret; 


A  Paraphrase  97 

An'  doon  the  deep  valleys  o'  gloomy  regret ; 
Ye've  thocht   o'  the   auld   folks   wha  sair  for  ye 
trauchled — 
Oh  God's  peety  for  ye,  gin  ere  ye  forget. 

An'  aften  we'll  think  o'  ye,  aften  we'll  ponder — 
O  dae  ye  no'  wus  whiles  that  ye  were  at  hame? 

Come  back  tae  the  he'rts  that  hae  lo'ed  ye,  and 
wonder 
Hoo  e'er  ye  could  leave  them  for  riches  or  fame. 

Yir  place  at  the  ingle  is  empty  an'  waitin', 

Some  faces  ye'll  miss,  but  we'll  loe  ye  the  mair — 

Leave  gold  tae  the  Indians — gold  is  nae  matin ' 
For   he'rts   fou   o'  love — O',  we're    wan  tin'    ye 
sair! 


I   WOULD   BE   THE   RED   ROSE 

I  WOULD  be  the  red  rose 

Nestling  on  your  breast, 

When  you  stooped  your  dear  head 

I'd  blush  to  be  caressed; 

Lying  o'er  your  warm  heart 

I  would  only  seek 

Just  to  spend  my  splendour 

Colouring  your  cheek. 

I  would  be  the  west  wind 

Beating  on  your  brow, 

Toying  with  your  tresses, 

Curling  anyhow; 

Lingering  ever  near  you 

Warm  and  soft  and  sweet, 

I  would  give  my  ozone, 

Then  die  at  your  feet. 
98 


I  Would  be  the  Red  Rose 

I  would  be  the  sunbeam 
Flitting  o'er  your  face, 
Kissing  every  feature 
In  my  romping  race; 
Resting  on  your  red  lips 
I  would  upward  rise 
Till  I  left  my  life's  light 
Glowing  in  your  eyes. 


99 


THE  LONELY  TOMB 

I  BUILT  me  a  tomb  on  a  far  hillside 

Where  the  brooding  silence  lies, 
And  wet-eyed  Sorrow  I  had  for  bride 

With  deep  and  haunting  eyes, 
And  there  with  the  wind-blown  scents  of  youth 

In  sound  of  the  sobbing  sea, 
My  soul  kept  tryst  with  love  and  ruth 

And  life  was  good  for  me. 

There  in  the  tomb  on  the  lone  hillside, 

In  sound  of  the  sobbing  sea, 
I  buried  the  dreams  of  a  world  of  pride — • 

The  dreams  that  were  life  to  me, 
I  buried  a  world — gained  a  world  of  Truth, 

In  my  bride  with  the  sorrowful  eyes, 
Out  there  'mong  the  wind-blown  scents  of  youth 

Where  the  brooding  silence  lies. 


loo 


LET  MOVIN'  MIRTH 

Let  movin'  mirth  an'  groanin'  grief 

Betake  a  quick  departure, 
I  carena'  what's  a  man's  beHef 

Since  love's  filled  me  wi'  rapture. 
I  sing  my  ain  sweet  lassie's  praise, 

Sae  sweet,  sae  young,  an'  bonnie; 
For  fairer  fio'er  upon  the  braes 

There  never  could  be  ony. 

Spring,  ne'er  a  purer  snawdrap  nursed 

Nor  thorn  a  purer  blossom, 
Mair  modest  than  the  flo'ers  that  burst 

Upon  sweet  Nature's  bosom 
Is  she,  the  rose-bud  o*  my  heart, 

Whose  petals  are  but  burstin' 
To  bloom,  an'  play  a  rose's  part — 

Love's  waters  quench  my  thirstin'. 


lOl 


TO  J H M 

Come,  come,  ye  glorious  Nine,  from  hill  and  sea 
And  in  your  necromancy  wrap  me  round, 
Bring  every  flower  and  fragrance  that  is  found 
In  fairy  woods  and  strew  them  'neath  a  tree 
So  that  one  hour  elysian  reign  with  me, 
And  I  can  lie  and  listen  to  the  sound 
Of  ring-doves  wooing  beauty  from  the  ground 
While  time  weaves  joys  from  dim  futurity 
Fill  then  this  couch  with  dreams  and  let  me  lie, 
And  bring  a  goblet  filled  with  beaded  wine 
So  that  I'll  dream  of  you,  my  other  self. 
Who  came  to  me  with  mind  and  soul  divine 
And  heart  as  lightsome  as  a  woodland  elf — 
Who  then  would  know  so  much  of  heaven  as  I? 


1 02 


TO  H C 

Oh  thou,  who  hast  such  passion  in  thy  heart 
As  gods  might  envy,  and  the  tenderness 
And  purity  of  snowdrops,  as  they  press 
Through  crusted  earth  to  take  Life's  storms  and 

start 
The  cycle  of  the  Spring  with  unknown  art ; 
Thou   with   the   soul   that   burns   for   man's   dis- 
tress 
To  see  him  smiling  live  'neath  Love's  caress. 
And   know   what   faith   and   trust   and  hope  im- 
part; 
I  think  of  Christ  when  thou  in  surging  speech 
Pourest  out  hot  passion  from  thy  woman's  soul 
Like  to  the  tides  which  mock  at  man's  control 
And  fling  themselves  in  wild  force  on  the  beach — • 
Oh!  when  I  meet  you  thus  on  Life's  rough  road, 
I  see  not  Woman  only — I  see  God. 


103 


SONNET 


ON    HEARING    AN    OPERA    FOR    THE    FIRST    TIME 

I  CAME,  a  unit  of  the  toiling  mob 

And  heard  the  voice  of  gods  in  music  speak 
Through    simple    peasant    folk.     I    saw    how 
weak 

Humanity  becomes  'neath  Passion's  robe; 

My  pulses  thrilled,  my  heart  beat  throb  on  throb 
As  Tragedy,  in  silence,  stole  to  seek 
A  part  within  the  play — then  all  was  bleak — 

The  Comedy  had  ended  with  a  sob. 

I   gasped,    and   swayed,    and   shook   as  wave  on 
wave 
Tossed  me  and  drove  me  o'er  Emotion's  sea, 

Fearing  that  naught  from  tears  my  heart  could 

save, 

104 


Sonnet  105 

Yet   glad   with   sailor's   zest   when   winds   blow 
free. 
I  cried  aloud  at  each  ecstatic  bound: 
Lord  God;  but  this  is  magic  wrought  in  sound! 


TO  A M 

As  thirsty  traveller  o'er  the  desert  spring 
Bends  greedily  to  drink  its  waters  sweet, 
As  April  swallows,  ardent,  strong  and  fleet 
Fly  to  the  North  on  Life's  compelling  wing, 
As  bees  to  roses  in  their  ardour  cling. 
As  roses  to  the  dew  when  day's  long  heat 
Brings  heavy  scented  night  and  rest  complete, 
So  friendship  to  your  friendship  now  I  bring. 

I  love  clean  men  and  women,  and  their  joy 
In  simple  things.     I  love  the  hills  and  sea — 
The  rolling  moors  and  shady  glens  employ 
A  sweet  delight  that  teaches  to  be  free. 
Thus  do  I  hail  you,  comrade,  in  Life's  throng 
And  fondly  seal  our  friendship  with  a  song. 


1 06 


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